


Victory(ies)

by AnnaFaie



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2019-08-03 01:55:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16316936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaFaie/pseuds/AnnaFaie
Summary: The team had long began making suggestive jokes about Harry and Gareth: in fact, the extent to which the boys were assuming that something had occurred between the two was a little worrying.





	Victory(ies)

Harry was floating on his back, arms outstretched. The sea was cool, the temperature soothing his tight muscles. He focussed on his breathing, clearing his mind so that he could only hear the steady beat of his heart and the quiet whoosh of air as it left his lungs. It was one of those serene moments when the world seemed to halt, his frantic thoughts slowing down to give him a reprieve, however brief it might be.

 

A wave crashed over his face and he spluttered, flailing his arms until he was vertical, feet just about reaching the sandy floor.

 

“Fucking prat!” He yelled good-naturedly at Henderson, who was making a rather quick escape towards the shore. Henderson raised a hand and stuck his middle finger out.

 

“Yoga in an hour!” Gareth shouted at Henderson’s back.

 

The manager was treading water a few feet away, quietly overseeing the boys’ shenanigans. So far Pickford had almost drowned Henderson and Rashford had jumped bodily onto Harry, only to realise he was the lighter of the two by some sixteen kilos and ending up submerged in one easy twist of Harry’s body. At least no-one had attempted to manhandle Sancho yet. Harry didn’t fancy having to apologise to the kid’s parents.

 

“This is nice,” Harry remarked. “Just like Russia”.

 

Gareth nodded, meeting Harry’s gaze. The comment was loaded with meaning, and Harry had intended it to be. The team had long began making suggestive jokes about Harry and Gareth: in fact, the extent to which the boys were assuming that something had occurred between the two was a little worrying. Yet neither man was intending to flaunt whatever it was between them, even if they did manage to make out like giddy teenagers in every secluded corridor in Russia they found themselves in. Gareth was married, Harry had young kids. Both loved their respective partners, and were content for their indiscretion to remain a secret.

 

“Our flight is early tomorrow,” Gareth said, raising an eyebrow, reading Harry’s intentions accurately, as he had a knack for doing. “You may be twenty-five and have the boundless energy of a Labrador puppy, but pity an old man.”

 

Harry laughed.

 

“I seem to remember said old man keeping up with me on one memorable night in Moscow. Don’t put yourself down, gaffer. You almost wore me out.”

 

“You’d played two games in a row.”

 

“So? Labrador puppy, remember?”

 

Gareth sighed, dipping his head backwards into the cool water. He came back up seconds later, water running down his face, and Harry felt the sudden urge to kiss the droplets caught at the edge of his mouth away.

 

“What are we going to do?” Gareth asked.

 

“About?”

 

“This. Us. It’s going to get out, sooner or later.”

 

“Dunno if it’ll be a problem for the lads. Hendo said he noticed you staring at my ass last night. Seemed to find it hilarious.”

 

“It’s one thing for them to suspect and another for it to be all over the media.”

 

Harry nodded. The early evening sun was beginning to scorch his shoulders, and the top of his head felt hot.

 

“We can be careful. Drag it out as long as possible.”

 

They started to swim towards the shore with long, slow breast-strokes.

 

“Harry, sooner or later someone will see or say something. I...” Gareth paused, and it was unlike the manager to not know what to say. “I signed the contract because of you. The money’s great, yes, but I’d had other offers. I couldn’t say no though, because to spend another four years with you was...”

 

The water was shallow now, and both stood, wind chilling their torsos. On the bank, the boys were apparently drying themselves off. Which inevitably meant that Henderson was chasing Sancho around with a towel, shrieking and laughing, and Pickford and Winks were engaging in an impromptu wrestling match.

 

“Gareth, I’d never have asked you to do that for me.”

 

“I know. It wasn’t really a rational decision.”

 

The PR team had gone, Harry realised. They’d been keen to photograph the team in the down time, hovering on the beach for a while. He wasn’t quite sure when they’d left, but the small stretch of sand and rocks behind their hotel was empty but for the team. The water was too cold for most European guests at this time of the year, of course, and the sun was starting to set.

 

Harry reached out and took Gareth’s hand. It was an instinctive movement, and Harry wasn’t usually one for acting thoughtlessly. From an early age he’d worked hard, and didn’t raise too much ruckus, and was generally the good, well behaved one. Except now, an aching feeling inside of him made him want to touch Gareth, feel the solidness of the manager’s calloused hand, the long, talented fingers.

 

He felt Gareth freeze. Heard, as if in slow motion, silence spread through the team.

 

And Harry became suddenly brave. He turned and took Gareth’s face in his hands, and there was wariness in Gareth’s eyes, a sort of guarded warning not to do what Harry was about to do. Harry, of course, knew it was a terrible idea. Which was why he kissed Gareth, there and then, goosebumps forming on his cold wet skin and warmth spreading through his core simultaneously. Gareth didn’t answer his kiss at first, and only when the shore erupted with catcalls and jeers did he relax into Harry, his arms weaving around Harry’s lower back.

 

The broke away to see Sacho looking vaguely shell-shocked. Everyone else seemed to be dead-set on making comments of increasing vulgarity, and Harry, for once, didn’t feel ashamed.

 

“C’mon”, he said, taking Gareth’s hand again. “Yoga, remember?”

 

Gareth nodded weakly and followed him, allowing Harry to offer him one of the huge fluffy towels to wrap himself in against the cool wind.

 

“Does this mean I don’t have to share a room with him anymore?” Henderson asked Gareth excitedly. “Because, just to warn you, he fucking plays his stupid video game until 3AM.”

 

“And snores,” offered Sterling helpfully.

 

“And leaves his dirty clothes everywhere,” added Pickford. “Good luck, gaffer. Man’s a pig.”

 

“Seems like you’re stuck with me, then,” Harry laughed, shaking the water out of his hair.

 

“Boys. Boys.” Gareth looked at them, reprising his air of authority as best as he could in this circumstances. “This doesn’t get out beyond us, understood?”

 

“Raheem won’t sell the make out sesh video to the Mail,” Pickford full on giggled, then dodged Sterling’s heavy arm expertly. “It’s for his own personal wank-bank. Ouch...!”

 

Harry closed his eyes, resigning himself to a four-year-long barrage of lewd comments.

 

“Yoga. 30 minutes, boys.”

 

He walked towards Sancho, who still didn’t look like he’d regained his ability to speak.

 

* *

 

“Water?”, Gareth offered as Harry discarded his leather jacket.

 

Harry nodded and accepted a glass of cold Perrier. He downed it, noticing the way Gareth’s eyes lingered on his neck.

 

“What?”, he asked, feeling, as he often did in such situations, too big and clumsy.

 

“Come here.”

 

Harry obeyed, and from this vantage point their height difference was even more obvious, what with Gareth having to tilt his head back to look at him. The streetlights were reflected in Gareth’s eyes, and his pupils were blown either from the alcohol or the adrenaline or a heady combination of both.

 

The game with Spain had passed in a blur. One. Two. Three. Something had clicked into place within the team, quietly and smoothly, and Harry had felt a second surge of energy in his legs despite the fatigue and soreness. Gareth had even let them drink after the game, only a couple of drinks each, and had allowed Winks to cajole him into doing tequila shots.

 

It was quiet now. The window was open, the Andalusian air warm even in mid October. Gareth looked like he was about to say something, but Harry interrupted him -

 

“Let’s just enjoy it.”

 

And Gareth nodded, leaning into Harry, their heads slotting together like their bodies had been designed for one another. His breathing was heavy, the only lingering sign of the excitement and nervousness he had experienced watching the match from the sidelines. Harry reached under Gareth’s shirt, resting his hands on the manager’s back, the tightly knotted muscles there flexing under Harry’s touch.

 

“You need to relax more,” Harry said, and he was glad to be able to give Gareth this, the simple comfort that Gareth was too often the one giving.

 

Gareth stepped away, setting his suit jacket aside carefully, and loosening his tie. Harry could have sworn that easy movement, the casual way in which Gareth’s index and middle fingers tugged at the knot, was the stuff erotic dreams were made of.

 

“You’ll be the press’ darling again tomorrow,” he remarked, just to say something, to distract himself from the overwhelming desire to devour Gareth there and then.

 

“And their enemy again soon enough, I’m sure. I’ve never understood the media storm, anyway.”

 

Harry walled up behind him, embracing the manager around the shoulders. Bracing him, a solid wall of muscle for Gareth to lean on.

 

“You’re kind. And decent. And clever. And beautiful.”

 

Gareth laughed at that.

 

“Beautiful? Have you seen my nose?”

 

“I like your nose. I like everything about you.”

 

“Exactly how many drinks have you had, skipper?”

 

They stood like that for long, slow minutes, watching the blinking lights outside, allowing their bodies to slow down after a manic day. Harry wasn’t sure when the weight he’d been carrying since Russia had been lifted - perhaps when he realised there wasn’t a need to sneak behind his team-mates’ backs anymore.

 

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

 

“It’s Papa Dier. He’s made sure Sancho was safely in his room.”

 

“Thanks. Poor kid, it must be overwhelming for him.”

 

“He’s mature enough. Dier also adds, and I quote, “don’t keep us awake with your celebrations.” I’m half tempted to shake the bed just for the laughs.”

 

Said bed did, in fact, look exceptionally welcoming. Harry was bone-tired, and with the adrenaline crash coming on in full-force, he was beginning to feel like he could sleep for days.

 

“You’re sleeping standing up again?” Gareth turns in Harry’s arms, a warm and solid presence. “Get into bed. I’ll shower and join you.”

 

The sheets were cool against Harry’s flushed skin. The bang to his head was beginning to make itself known now, and he was pretty sure that he’d have a splitting headache come morning.The sound of the shower running was all he could hear as he closed his eyes.

 

He must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he was aware of was Gareth next to him, a book in his hands. He smelled of the lemony hotel shower-gel, and was tantalisingly naked but for a towel wrapped around his hips.

 

“Sorry. What time is it?”

 

“Just before midnight,” Gareth replied, setting the book aside. “You were kicking in your sleep.”

 

“Yeah, I do that.” Harry stretched luxuriously, his body protesting at the full-body stretch. Gareth’s eyes examined him critically.

 

“Sore?”

 

“Am fine. Kiss me.”

 

Gareth did kiss him then, bracing himself on both arms above Harry’s prone body. Harry ran his fingers up Gareth’s rather wonderful arse, up his back, marvelling at the shape the man kept himself in. He couldn’t seem to get quite enough of the physical contact, the warmth of Gareth’s skin against his, the way those lean, long legs were tangled with his.

 

“You need to rest.”

 

“Yes, Dad.”

 

Something in Gareth’s eyes changed.

 

“Don’t call me that. The boys would have a field day.”

 

“Oh, a few have already made daddy-kink comments. And helpfully messaged me links to some interesting porn.”

 

Gareth groaned, burying his face in Harry’s neck. His shoulders shook, and Harry realised he was stifling a bout of laughter.

 

He laughed then, too, holding Gareth close and making himself a silent promise to not let go anytime soon.

 


End file.
